


It don't mean a thing

by Bill_Longbow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Fluff and Angst, Jarvis lives, M/M, Mentions of Panic Attacks, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, brief descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-05 05:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13381353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/pseuds/Bill_Longbow
Summary: Bucky didn't expect much more than a good salary and a hot meal when working the Stark gala. What he found was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. Unfortunately they live in a time where love between men is dangerous and forbidden, and the world is at war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/gifts).



> Written for our wonderful Wren, who liked a Romeo and Juliet inspired fic. It kinda got out of hand from there xD
> 
> Thank you to [Skye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_wyr/pseuds/Skye_wyr), you're a wonderful beta!
> 
> This fic is heavily inspired by the Big Band Music of the 1940s. The title is taken from Duke Ellington's It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.  
> In the text I linked the songs that are playing to YouTube, I highly recommend listening to them while reading!
> 
> Hope you enjoy, comments are always welcome!

He peered at himself in the mirror as he added a little more pomade to his hair. There, perfect. He hadn't been this excited for a job in a long, long time. Somehow Pegs had gotten him a gig serving drinks at a very exclusive party. The pay was good, and he didn't even have to bring his own suit. Good thing too, he only owned one and the sleeves were getting a little threadbare. Not too bad to go dancing, but certainly not good enough to go waitering at the Starks. One last comb through his hair and he was ready to go. 

  
  


He put his hands deeper in his pockets. He couldn't afford a taxi, so he had taken a bus and had to walk for a bit to the mansion and his hands were freezing. The day had been lovely, but the night was very chilly for May. He arrived at the gate and got waved through by the guy there, who was fidgeting and stomping his feet to stay warm. 

 

The driveway to the mansion was a mile long, at least, and he had to jump to the side twice because of a car that came speeding around a bend. When, after another curve in the road, the mansion finally came into view, he had to take a moment to stand still and gape. 

 

The whole thing seemed to be lifted straight from a fairy tale. The main house and several outbuildings lay sprawling across a lush uphill garden, filled with trees and shrubs from all over the world, and the entire scene was lit by lanterns. Bucky couldn't wrap his head around what it would be like to live in a place like this. His stomach rumbled aloud, interrupting his reverie. You wouldn't go hungry here, that's for sure. Part of the charm of this job was the promise of a free meal halfway through. 

 

He started walking again and reached the main house soon enough. His instructions were to go to a little side entrance on the left of the building, which was easy to find, thankfully. He was met by a grumpy looking, burly man, who checked his papers and pointed him to a little office down the hall. In the office was a young woman, who was typing furiously and only looked up when he cleared his throat. 

 

She gave him a warm smile. “You're here for the waiting job?”

 

Bucky felt himself smile back and took off his hat. “Sure am, miss.” 

 

The woman picked up a list and looked at him expectantly. 

 

“Erm, Barnes. James, Buchanan.”

 

She put a neat checkmark next to his name and gave him a piece of paper. “You know how to write?”

 

He nodded as he took the paper. He was actually quite proud he could. Not many in his old neighbourhood could afford to send their kids to school, forced to have them work the odd job to make ends meet. Winifred hadn't been able to keep him from working, but she did insist on homeschooling him as best she could.

 

He quickly filled out the form and got a bundle of clothes in return. He wished the ground would open and devour him when his stomach protested again. The woman didn't give any indication she had heard though. 

 

“This is your uniform, please let me know if it fits well, you're more bulky than Peggy described you.” She pointed at a little bathroom across the hall where he could change. “Come back here when you're done, I'll point you to the kitchen, where you'll find coworkers and can have a bite to eat before your shift starts.”

 

Mortified, he left to change and was relieved the uniform fit well enough. Even if it was a little tight in his shoulders, he wasn't going to mention that, he wanted to leave as quickly as possible. 

  
  
  


When he opened the door to the kitchen he heard voices, and saw a woman, obviously the chef, and a young man in overalls who tried to sneak a bite from what she was making. 

 

“But Ana,” the young man whined. “Your casserole is so much better than the uppity food they serve out there.”

 

The woman whacked him on the back of his hand when he tried again. “Anthony, you know full well a lot of folks would do just about anything to get some of that  _ uppity food _ , so quit your whining. This is for the servers.”

 

When the man's shoulders slumped in defeat she bumped him with her hip. “Go fetch me a plate and sit down at the table to eat, none of that sneaking around me.”

 

The man hugged her and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. “You're the best!”

 

He skipped to a cupboard to get a plate and Bucky noticed the cook, Ana, piled it high with food. 

 

Bucky still stood hovering awkwardly in the doorway, not sure if he was supposed to interrupt or wait. When the young man turned around to walk to the table in the middle of the kitchen they both startled. The young man because he obviously didn't expect Bucky there, and Bucky because the other must've been the most breathtakingly beautiful person he’d ever encountered. Even with his hair standing every which way and a smudge of something on his chin. 

 

The young man,  _ Anthony _ , his mind provided, recovered first and gave him an impish grin as he put his plate on the table and went over to get another plate, saying something quietly to Ana. She looked around and nodded in reply, and put even more food on this plate, before continuing her stirring in a huge pan. Anthony detoured to pick up some cutlery and put this plate on the table across from him.

 

“Go on, I won't bite,” he smirked at Bucky as he sat down. “At least not until I've finished my food.” With that he dug in, eating with relish.

 

Bucky took that as his cue to step further into the kitchen, but he still wasn't sure he didn't have to wait with eating until after he had worked half his shift. 

 

Rolling his eyes, Anthony got up and pulled Bucky by his hand to the table. “Seriously, it's a crime if you let this go cold, not to mention a besmirching of poor Ana’s reputation. I will not stand for this, good sir, eat up or I'll challenge you to a duel.” He made him sit and pushed a fork into Bucky's hand. “Name's Tony by the way, so you'll know who sent you to your early demise.” With a wink he sat down and started eating again, looking pointedly at Bucky until he took a bite as well. 

 

He couldn't help the moan that escaped him at the first bite. Tony hadn't been kidding about how good the casserole was. Bucky saw Tony's eyes light up in mischief, and he quickly took another bite to hide his flush. 

 

After another bite he remembered he hadn't introduced himself at all, so he stuck out his hand to Tony. “Name's James, but friends call me Bucky.” 

 

“Very nice to make your acquaintance,  _ Bucky _ ,” Tony replied, returning his handshake with a strong grip. Tony probably held his hand for longer than was socially acceptable, but Bucky didn't really mind, entranced as he was by the sparkle in the huge brown eyes staring at him. They might've still sat like that if it wasn't for Ana, who cleared her throat when she turned their way. They quickly let go and turned to their plates, both wolving the delicious food down and casting furtive glances at each other. 

 

A clock chimed seven. “Don't you have to be somewhere, Anthony?” Ana squeezed his shoulder on her way to the pantry. 

 

All mirth dropped off Tony's face for an instant, before he smiled and leaned on his arms to stand up. “Time to go change, I guess. See you around, Bucky.”

 

Bucky returned his smile and stood up as well. “I'd like that. Tony.”

 

Tony's smile turned just that bit brighter and with a wink he swaggered out of the kitchen. 

 

As he sat down again, Bucky wondered what kind of job Tony had here in the mansion, some kind of handyman? They probably asked their usual staff to help at the ball tonight as well. Bucky quickly ate the rest of his meal and stood to put his plate in the sink, giving Ana a heartfelt thank you. Ana pointed him to where he could find Edwin Jarvis, who supervised all personnel this evening. Jarvis appointed Bucky to be one of the drinks servers, and the evening flew by in a blur of running to and fro with large trays, smiling at guests and avoiding getting trampled on by the jitterbugging crowd.

 

At a little to twelve, Jarvis called a few of them to him and told them to take a break and have something to eat. The party would continue well into the morning and he didn’t want his servers to keel over. Some of Bucky’s coworkers took the food Ana had prepared and sat down in the little lounge area prepared for them, but Bucky could really do with some fresh air so he shrugged on his coat and went to find a secluded spot in the garden. He found a nice terrace which was sheltered from the wind by huge potted plants, but when he made to sit he saw someone was already there. He turned to leave them in peace, but the man cut in before he could. “You can stay. Wouldn’t mind some company.”

 

“Tony?” Bucky couldn’t believe his luck. With all the guests and personnel the number of people in the mansion must be well in the hundreds, he didn’t expect to find Tony again this evening.

 

Tony turned from where he was hunched over the railing, and smiled a dazzling smile. He was even more gorgeous now that he was all dolled up. His hair in an artful side part, with a single lock of curls that had escaped the rest and hung over his forehead. Bucky couldn’t see his outfit under the long coat, but his shoes were of a better quality than his own. The Starks apparently took good care of their employees.

 

Tony gestured at the bench where Bucky stood. “Mind if I sit with you?”

 

This startled Bucky into movement, he stepped awkwardly to the side and waved at the bench. “Absolutely not. I mean, be my guest.” He groaned inwardly, something about Tony stripped away his usual charm. He sat down and opened his food bag as Tony came over and sat next to him. There were a soda and some sandwiches inside. He took one out and offered it to Tony. “Since you seem to like Ana’s cooking?”

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Tony replied with a grin. He took a huge bite and closed his eyes in enjoyment, giving Bucky the opportunity to study his face. When Tony looked up he quickly turned his head and rummaged in the bag for another sandwich, but he felt Tony scooting closer until they sat close enough to not quite touch.

 

The sandwich was probably delicious, but Bucky couldn’t tell. He was much too focussed on Tony next to him, the subtle feeling of warmth radiating of him, the sounds he made while chewing and how they would sometimes bump into each other. Bucky felt warm and cold at the same time, his heart rate way above normal. He didn’t know if he hoped that he read the situation right or not. Just thinking about reaching out and touching Tony made his skin tingle and the blood rush in his ears, and they hadn’t even exchanged much more than their names! But if someone spotted them it meant they would get fired, at the very least. 

 

He took the soda out of the bag, took a sip and offered it to Tony too. There really wasn’t any misreading how Tony took the straw in his mouth and sucked, while looking at Bucky. 

 

On instinct he moved away a bit, he couldn’t give in to this temptation, but the look of genuine hurt on Tony’s face as he did so made him scoot back. He cleared his throat and looked at the sky. The stars were out in full force tonight. 

 

“I eh..,” he started. He had no clue what to say, honestly, or what he wanted. 

 

Someone had opened a window and the music from inside sounded a little clearer. Tony stood up and offered his hand to Bucky. “Do you dance?” It sounded like a challenge.

 

The band had justed started  _[Sing Sing Sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2S1I_ien6A) _ and Bucky had trouble keeping his foot still. “I could go a round,” he said on an impulse. He stood up and took Tony’s hand in his, which was warm and firm. 

 

It took a little doing, they were both used to lead, but after a few steps they quickly found their flow, jumping and skipping a quick Lindy Hop. The music was faint, and was nearly drowned out by the sound of their shoes hitting the pavement, by their whoops of delight, by their panting as the song progressed. Tony was an excellent dancer, but Bucky could hold his own and soon they were doing more and more complex moves, twirling around, under and over each other, grinning in delight. Their touches grew bolder, necessitated by the dance moves, grabbing onto each other more firmly. 

 

When the song ended they leaned against each other, panting and grinning. Tony pulled back a little and turned sober as he pushed a stray lock that had come undone behind Bucky’s ear. Bucky couldn't hold back if he wanted to, consequences be damned, Tony's gaze was like a magnet, pulling him in. He leaned in and softly placed a kiss on the corner of Tony's mouth. When he pulled back Tony snaked an arm around Bucky's neck to hold him in place, kissing him back with more force. Bucky put his arms around Tony's waist and pulled him flush against him. He relished in the warmth of his body, the smell of his cologne, and how their lips lazily moved against each other. 

 

The clock in the tower started to chime twelve and Tony pulled back. “I have to go,” he said, regret clear in his voice. “Tell me where I can find you?” 

 

Bucky started to rattle off his address when someone loudly called “Anthony, where the hell are you?”

 

Tony walked backwards until they only held each other's hands, their arms outstretched. “Meet me tomorrow at Roseland in Manhattan.” Tony walked backwards until he had to go round a corner. “Please come for me?” And he was gone. 

 

Bucky hurried back to where Jarvis was overseeing the pouring of champagne, quickly shouldering a tray and moving into the ballroom. The music had stopped and on the stage a man was holding a speech, something about being proud of his heir and following into his legacy. Bucky didn't really listen as he tried to provide the guests with a glass of champagne. He was on his way back with an empty tray when he stopped dead in his tracks. On the stage the man said “everyone, let's sing for the birthday boy, my son, Anthony Edward Stark!”

 

The crowd started to sing, but Bucky didn't hear it, because on that stage stood Tony, his Tony, in a perfectly tailored tux, looking unhappy and smiling awkwardly at the crowd. 

 

It was on pure force of will that Bucky didn't drop the tray then and there, and that he made it through until his shift ended at 2 o'clock. Mechanically he took the envelope with money and the little snack Ana had prepared for all the helpers. Feeling absolutely miserable he trudged his way back to Brooklyn. 

 

It was nearing 4 when he finally rolled into bed and fell into a fitful sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

He woke when someone pulled open the curtains a bit. He snuggled deeper under the blanket, so rude to pester him with daylight. 

 

“Young sir, it's nearing noon and you had requested to be awoken.”

 

He turned around and stretched while a huge yawn split his face. 

 

“Thanks J, I'll be down in a bit.”

 

Jarvis nodded and ruffled his hair in passing, making Tony squawk indignantly. 

 

“I'm a grown man now, J!”

 

With an “indeed sir,” Jarvis was out the room.

 

Tony resisted the urge to close his eyes again. Saturdays were heavenly in the mansion. Usually all the staff but Jarvis and Ana were gone, Howard would be away or holed up in his workshop and his mom would be doing something social, like a high tea somewhere. He didn't expect them to do anything different today. 

 

He did luxuriate in the memory of Bucky kissing him, for a bit. He had been feeling extremely bold, asking Bucky to dance like that, but from the moment he had spotted him hovering in the doorway Tony had felt a connection. He knew it sounded stupid and naive and  _ unsuitable for an heir of Stark, quit your daydreaming, boy, and grow up, there's a war going _ . But he was giddy with anticipation for tonight. That kiss must've meant something, right? He couldn't wait to dance with Bucky again. Not like last night of course, not in public, but dancing nonetheless. He wanted to see Bucky smile again, wanted to see that smile turned to him, wanted that gorgeous man to have eyes only for him. 

 

After pulling on some comfortable clothes he shambled to the kitchen to get some coffee. He was slightly disappointed to find it empty, he had thought Ana would at least want to congratulate him. Maybe she thought that sham of a party last night was enough. 

 

Pushing down the hurt he poured himself a cup and walked through the long, lifeless hallways to his personal workshop, munching absentmindedly on a bread roll. This was his favourite place in the mansion, Howard rarely bothered to show up here, instead ordering his son to attend  _ him _ . (His mom barely made it out of her personal wing at all, let alone come down these deserted hallways.) He could tinker to his heart's content here, as long as he worked on Howard's weapons as well.

 

Brushing off some crumbs he frowned when he found the door off the lock. It happened once in a while that he was so tired he forgot to lock up properly. He thought he had yesterday, but maybe with all the excitement yester--

He came to a stop when he saw his workshop lit up by tiny candles on top of a large cake, Ana and Jarvis beaming behind it.

 

“ _ Happy birthday to you...” _

 

Tony quickly wiped away a stray tear when they sang for him, looking proud and happy. Grown men didn’t cry after all. He bounced over when they were done and enveloped them in a threeway hug.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbled against Jarvis’ shoulder, who squeezed his arm in response.

 

“Happy birthday, Tony.” Ana kissed him on his forehead. 

 

They pulled back to smile at each other, before Jarvis made a show of handing Tony a present. It was small and wrapped carefully in soft paper. When he unwrapped it he saw it was a box of a beautiful dark wood. When he opened it a music started playing, a warm and happy song.

 

“We bought that in the week you were born, that song was all the rage back then,” Jarvis confided, “it always makes us think of you”.

 

Tony enveloped them both in a big hug again, not bothering to hide his tears now. He felt ashamed to think Ana might’ve deemed him not important enough.  _ These _ were the people who stood by him through thick and thin, who raised him, who had always loved him.

 

When he whispered “thank you,” he meant for so much more than just the gift, and they understood, like they had always understood him.

 

The cake was delicious, of course, and afterwards Jarvis and Ana went back to their chores, while Tony spend a blissful afternoon tinkering with a Dodge engine without interruption.

 

When evening came nervousness crept up, he was getting less and less sure Bucky would actually show up tonight. He could have prior obligations, Tony didn’t check when he asked him. But there hadn’t been any time, with Howard practically breathing in his neck. If he found out about Tony’s  _ deviant _ tastes there was no telling what he would do. Tony shuddered and tried to push that thought as far down as it would go.

 

After a simple dinner in the kitchen he got himself dressed and sneaked out to the old Ford sedan he had custom rebuilt himself and hidden in one of the outbuildings where his parents never came. Jarvis probably knew it existed, as did Happy, but they were alright with Tony taking some liberties, as long as he kept himself and others safe. 

 

The drive to Manhattan went by in a blur of jittery nerves. Tony had made this journey dozens of times in the last year, ever since he had made a convincing fake ID, but never had he been this nervous. If Bucky didn’t show he thought he would still have a good time, dancing always made him feel free and happy, but he really wanted him to show.

 

The doorman let him through without checking, greeting him like a regular, and inside a chorus of “Tony!” went up from several of his dance partners. He scanned the room but saw no sign of Bucky yet. Waving at his friends he decided to get a drink first, until sitting still proved to be too much of a challenge with the loud music.

 

He was twirling his second dance partner for the night when he spotted a tall and familiar figure making his way through the crowd. His stomach lurched and he felt very hot suddenly. Now that Bucky was here he had no idea how he should act. It was imperative that they didn’t seem like any more than just friends, but Tony wasn’t sure if he could keep his hands to himself. He continued dancing on autopilot, while trying to keep Bucky in sight. When their eyes finally met... nothing happened, Bucky turned away and gestured at a girl as an invite to dance.

 

The band started playing  _ [It Don't Mean A Thing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDQpZT3GhDg) _ and Tony managed to guide his girl to where Bucky was dancing. Bucky was as handsome as he had been yesterday, maybe even more so with clothes he clearly felt more comfortable in. He was a sight to behold as he moved, skipping and dancing effortlessly, jumping and twirling around his partner. To keep from gaping Tony sped up his own dancing, his partner Janet following easily. Janet and him knew each other from since they were toddlers, so Tony was fairly sure she was on to him. She always had his back though, even if she teased him mercilessly.

 

The four of them quickly gathered a crowd, trying to outdo the other couple in intricate dance moves. At first Bucky seemed to pretend they weren’t there at all, but after Janet had bumped into him, by accident she assured Tony, he had given in and laughed and whooped as much for their dancing as for his own. It was almost as good as yesterday, holding Bucky’s gaze as they moved in sync, but Bucky’s partner clearly thought she lacked attention. After a twirl around Bucky’s shoulder she didn’t land as she was supposed to, but put her legs around his waist and kissed him full on the lips.

 

Tony felt ill as he struggled through the last steps of the song, because  _ Bucky didn’t let her go _ . When the band started a slow song Tony excused himself and shoved through the crowd to sit on a chair to the side of the dancefloor. He rubbed his face when he couldn’t spot Bucky in the crowd. Of all the things he might’ve expected to happen tonight, this was the last. What a fool he’d been, thinking that their kiss had meant something. 

 

He picked up his jacket and left. He was in no state to drive now, with his eyes blurring and his hands shaking, so he decided to go for a walk. It was busy, saturday nights on broadway always were, but where it usually soothed him he now felt aggravated by the joyful crowd.

 

“Tony!” Someone behind him yelled, but he was in no mood for social chit chat so he quickened his pace. 

 

“Tony.” He shot into a side alley in hopes of losing his pursuer, he just wanted to be left alone dammit. His luck had ran all out apparently, because he could hear fast footsteps approaching where he stood. They slowed down when they were close to the alley and a large shadow appeared, temporarily unclear because of the backlight.

 

“Look, I’m having a real shitty night, I’m not in the mood for small talk, okay?” He held his hands out and stepped into a fighting stance, you never knew in New York.

 

“Tony, please.” It was Bucky, who sounded as sad as Tony felt. 

 

“What, ran out of kissing partners already?” He knew he was being petty, but he had had such high hopes for tonight.

 

Bucky’s shoulders slumped as he took another step into the alley. “That was all her, you gotta believe me. It took your girl ages to get her off me, whacky bird.”

 

Tony crossed his arms and huffed, trying to not let himself be convinced.

 

“Couldn’t you tell I only had eyes for you?” Bucky took another step forward, unsure.

 

When Tony looked away he took another few steps, until he was close enough to whisper. “I came for you, like you asked.”

 

This made Tony lean in a bit, he could feel the warmth radiating off Bucky, and he finally gave in and put his arms around Bucky’s waist.

 

Bucky immediately pulled him closer, resting his chin on Tony’s head. “I tried to stay away. When I found out who you were yesterday. I felt so cheated.” 

 

Tony immediately let go and tried to push Bucky away. He had thought Bucky knew who he was, he was the sole reason for that stupid ball after all. Bucky didn't let go though, keeping him trapped in his arms. 

 

“Hey, no, don't be like that. I'm here ain’t I?”

 

With one big push Tony finally shoved him away. “And what exactly are you doing here, if you feel so cheated?”

 

Bucky stepped closer and murmured. “You tell me, rich boy, you fool around with all the staff?”

 

Tony recoiled as if he'd been hit, but quickly recovered. “You asshole!”

 

“Me?  _ You're _ all over the place. Just tell me what you want, Tony. I'm a simple guy, just tell me. No games.”

 

“I'm the--  _ You're _ the one sucking face at every opportunity,” Tony hissed back, stabbing his finger at Bucky's chest. “Who the heck even hugs someone while saying they don't like them? Who does that, huh?”

 

Bucky cowered a little, a myriad of emotions flitting over his face, while Tony started pacing, agitated. 

 

“What I want… what I thought… No, what I had  _ hoped _ is that you were different from the rest. That this could be, that this could mean something, but I guess not, I guess you're just the same.” Having made up his mind he came to a halt in front of Bucky. “Let me show you what  _ rich boys _ want then.” 

 

He quickly dropped to his knees on the dirty ground and opened Bucky's zipper, who only reacted when Tony put in a hand to pull his cock out. Bucky pushed Tony’s hands away and dropped to his knees as well, pulling Tony against his chest again. 

 

“This scares me okay, I'm scared. I barely know you but I can't stop thinking about you,” he mumbled against Tony's hair. When Bucky pulled back he looked so sad, Tony felt his resolve crumble. “It was gonna be a long shot, you know this, people don't understand. They do, they do terrible things to people like us.”

 

Tony nodded, it was true. His only hope had been marrying a girl with whom he could be friends, who wouldn't demand too much, just enough to get them with kids. Never this, never someone he'd actually wanted.

 

Bucky softly stroked his cheek. “But you being you and me being me, that makes it… I don't,” he was fumbling for words. “We're from different worlds, you and I! I, I work two jobs, could barely scrape together enough for the busride over. And you, you're rich, famous, your father works for the army. They would never let us be together.” He smiled a watery smile. 

 

“I didn't feel cheated by you, Tony, I felt cheated by fate. To give you to me for one night and then put you just out of reach.”

 

They were sheltered from the street by a dumpster, and Tony caved. He leaned in and gently kissed Bucky. 

 

This time there was no clock to call them back to reality, no-one waiting for them to come and perform. They kissed until their knees went sore from the cold, even then hesitant to let each other go as they stood. 

 

“Let me drive you home,” Tony blurted out, but Bucky shook his head sadly.

 

“Can't, I wouldn't be able to control myself, and you deserve better than that.” Bucky squeezed his hand before letting go completely. “But let's do this, yeah? Let's dance.” 

 

Tony nodded weakly. “Tell me where and I'll be there.”


	3. Chapter 3

Every Saturday, without fail, they would dance. They didn't speak about the war that was getting uglier with the day, not about the bombs Tony designed, not about Bucky's conscription. They didn't speak about what was growing between them, burning hotter with every causal touch and longing look. Instead they danced. They jumped and jived, waltzed, jitterbugged and rumba-ed. Never with each other, but always close enough to touch. Sharing heated glances while they threw their partners in the air, or dancing slowly back to back, pretending they were holding the other instead of a faceless girl.

 

They weren't the only ones. As more and more young men were drafted to fight and die overseas the dancehalls became coated with a feel of desperation. People grew careless, the dances more manic, more sensuous. It wasn't an act of the joy of living anymore, but rather the relief of _not being dead yet_. It was an act of defiance. It shouted: out there they can send us to our graves, but here they can't touch us; as long as we hold on to each other they can't take us. People didn't care anymore about dames being with dames, or guys with guys.

 

They still were careful, but as the date of Bucky's shipping out grew closer, their movements turned frantic as well. They would pull each other into abandoned alleyways and empty bathroom stalls, where they could kiss and _touch._ But it was never enough.

 

It had been a hot summer, and the heat had no mind to let go and gently ease into autumn. It was an exceptionally warm September evening and Bucky was due to ship out tomorrow. They had one last night together, and Bucky was determined to make it count. He fingered the little box in his pocket, nervousness suddenly high in his throat.

 

The dancehall they chose for tonight was not too far from where he lived, so Bucky made his way there on foot. He took his time, taking in all the familiar sights and sounds. God knew how long it would be before he would walk these streets again. The ‘if’ that popped up unwanted was pushed down as far as he could. He _would_ come back, there would be someone waiting for him after all. He was infinitely grateful Tony had never asked him to stay. He couldn't say no to Tony, but he had to go, or risk court martial for desertion.

 

The dancehall came into view, and Bucky took a moment to gather his courage. He had a plan for tonight. First they would dance like they always did, but then he would ask Tony to come with him to one of the rooftops overlooking the dancehall. They should be able to hear the music there, so they could finally dance with each other again, just like that fated evening in May. His fingers brushed against the box in his pocket again and he smiled involuntarily, thinking about how Tony would react when he asked him to wait for him, to be only his.

 

Brushing a hand through his hair he took a deep breath and crossed the street and entered the hall.

 

When he entered he quickly scanned the crowd but didn't see Tony yet. This wasn't unusual, he had to sneak out and drive for a bit after all, Bucky was used to being the first. He was _not_ used to being so jittery while he waited. So while he usually would settle at the bar he now waved over one of the idle girls and started dancing, to get out some of the nervous energy.

 

One dance turned into two, turned into three, and still no sign of Tony. There weren't any of Tony's friends around, they tended to stay in Manhattan, so he couldn't ask anyone if they knew if something was up.

 

A vague feeling of disquiet settled in the pit of his stomach. Maybe Tony wouldn't show up after all? He had seemed more and more agitated as this day drew closer. Less and less satisfied with their ‘arrangement’, for lack of a better word.

 

He allowed himself to be led to the bar. Never a shortage of pretty gals to go drinking or dancing with him. But his laughter at their stories sounded as empty as he felt.

 

After two drinks, there still was no sign of Tony. He felt a bit woozy, but the alcohol didn't help him relax. His thoughts seemed to be coming faster, if anything. He tried not to, but his mind seemed intent on scrutinizing every encounter between them. Wasn't it true that all initiative had come from him, that Tony never reached out first? Didn't Tony smile just as brightly at the girls he was dancing with as at Bucky? And why hadn't they talked more, tried to get to know each other? Bucky hadn't thought much of it before, but now he felt like such an idiot. Why would Tony be truly interested in _him_?

 

After his fourth drink it was clear that Tony wouldn't show. He squeezed the box in his pocket again. What a fool, to try and give his heart to a man who already had everything he desired. What else could Bucky mean to him but a plaything? Something to be enjoyed and then discarded.

 

Willing away the tears that threatened to well he stood up. He made his way to the dancefloor but declined all offers to partner up.

 

He danced his last dance.

 

He danced alone.

  
  


At eleven hundred hours sharp the motors on the boat roared to life, marking the start of their journey to Europe for hundreds of soldiers. All around him young men were waving at their loved ones on the quai.

 

There was no one for him.

  
  


Bootcamp was exhausting, but he needed that. He needed to feel his body ache, to drown out the numbness that threatened to overwhelm him from within. He pushed himself to extremes and was noticed. He was exactly the sort of stuff Uncle Sam needed on the battlefield! If they only knew…

  
  


On the battlefield he quickly made it to sergeant and was recruited as a sniper. More training followed, even more rigorous, but that was fine. What he wasn't prepared for was how his rifle was a Stark design. How he knew for certain it was a rifle that Tony had developed. Thoughts of Tony were a lot harder to stomp down when he was cradling his rifle in his arms.

 

Anger. White hot anger. Couldn't Tony just have left him the hell alone? Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? Mister big shot weapons designer playing with a dock worker. How he must have laughed with his friends. How was Bucky supposed to trust the handiwork of someone who had _willingly_ hurt him so bad?

  
  


He was miserably cold. Everything ached. They had marched for days in the rain, there wasn't a dry thread on his body. They sat huddled together around a fire, him and his squad. They had grown close together, after the horrors they had lived through. Usually they would share their food and drinks and swap stories, defying their fate by being as rambunctious as they could. Not tonight though. They had to say goodbye to one of their own after they were ambushed on their march. Tonight they sat huddled together in silence. Each thinking of the people who waited for them at home, and praying to whatever deity that would listen to grant them the fortune to return to them.  

 

His anger at Tony had long since dissipated. Instead he clutched his rifle to his chest like it was a part of Tony. He needed to pretend Tony designed it especially for him. He needed to pretend that there _had_ been something between them, and that there _was_ a beautiful and gifted young man waiting for him back home. He couldn't stand the alternative.

  
  


They walked straight into another ambush.  His squad was sent ahead to scout but after another week of marching in the cold they were sluggish. Bucky hadn't even seen the enemy yet when he was shot. He felt the bullet lodge in the bone of his left arm and he went down with the force of it. He tried to get up and get to his rifle, but a cruel face appeared above him. He swiped at it with his boot knife, which earned him a sneer and a barrage of kicks.

 

The last thought before he passed out was “I'm sorry, Tony.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who might be triggered see notes at the end of the chapter first.

He awoke to a pain so overwhelming all he could do was scream. There were people bent over his chest, an awful crunching sound accompanied their movements, other shapes moving frantically around him. He barely registered any of it, too consumed by the all encompassing burning _pain_ before he passed out.

  
  


The next time he awoke the pain was still there, but he was too exhausted to do anything but groan. Someone came over and talked in a soothing voice until he drifted off again.

  
  


Consciousness slowly trickled in this time. He first became aware of the smell of crisp clean sheets mingled with antiseptics. Next came the sounds: buzzing of machinery and an incessant beep. Somewhere, someone cried out. He was vaguely aware of his body, but it felt like he was wrapped up in cotton candy. There wasn't any pain, just fuzzy edges.

 

He drifted like this for a bit until he suddenly saw the headlights again as he braced for impact. The loud thud of the other car hitting the passenger side that he felt, rather than heard, and then his shoulder, head and back connecting with and breaking through the window, his skin catching at the glass shards, tearing it. He felt the car folding itself around him, impaling him, before he lost consciousness.

 

Bucky! His eyes flew open at the realisation. He was supposed to meet with Bucky. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. Wait, maybe there was still time? He just needed to have someone deliver a message.

 

He tried to sit up but found that his arms and legs were bound to the bed. Just trying to move made the pain flare up, leaving him weak and nauseous. No, no, no, no, no, he had to get to Bucky!

 

“Hello,” he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. Tears of frustration welled up. They couldn't hear him, he would be too late and Bucky would be gone. He would be gone and he would be alone and he would be wondering why Tony didn't show up. Tony struggled weakly at his bonds again, crying out at the surge of pain. This finally made a nurse come running.

 

“Mr Stark! How is this-- you shouldn't be awake.”

 

She started to check the various machines, completely ignoring his weak efforts to speak.

 

“Poor thing, you must be in so much pain.” She fiddled with one of the IV drips and added something.

 

“There now, this'll make you sleep again.”

 

She kindly patted his cheek and went to sit on a chair near the door.

 

Hopelessness overwhelmed him before sleep took him again.

  
  


It took him three months to finally be able to shuffle from his bed to the bathroom. Three months of near constant exertion. The doctors had thought his chance of survival very slim, but this was the heir of Stark, there was big money to be made by saving him. So they had operated for fourteen hours straight, removing tissue they couldn't save, and patching up what they could. They kept him in an artificial coma for weeks, until he finally was deemed healed enough to allow for some movement. Then they predicted he would never recover fully, they doubted he would ever be able to walk by himself again. Running, jumping, _dancing_ , were out of the question.

 

He showed them.

 

It took him another four months to be able to walk without aid, to lift objects heavier than a few books. Soon walking up stairs and jogging followed. Between all the physical therapy, he designed. He feverishly drew tanks, rifles, and protective gear. _Anything_ he could to keep Bucky as safe as possible. Howard and Obie were over the moon, and were glad to provide him with information about the troops’ movements. Every time the 107th had survived a scrap he secretly sighed in relief.

 

In the privacy of his own rooms he started to dance again, first slow things, like waltzing, gradually working up to the Charleston and on. He _would_ dance again, someone was coming for him after all.

 

Eight months after the accident, a week before his nineteenth birthday, his world crumbled anew. He was fiddling with the design of an aircraft motor when someone knocked on his door.

 

“Come in,” he yelled, thinking he was probably late for therapy again.

 

He looked up in surprise when he saw Peggy Carter enter his room, looking downcast. As the military liaison to Stark Industries she wasn't a stranger at the mansion, and Tony and her got along well. They had worked together on several designs recently, Peggy giving him feedback straight from the frontlines, to which she travelled to and fro. She was a sharp cookie and deducted things after she noticed his obsession with the 107th. It had been such a relief when he had finally told someone about Bucky. Someone who knew them both and didn't judge. From then on Peggy made it a point to always relay news personally.

 

“Anthony,” she started and he felt the dread rise cold along his spine. He put a hand over the scars on his chest protectively and felt the sped up beating of his heart.

 

“I wanted to tell you in person that a part of the 107th was captured three days ago. Including James Barnes.”

 

He felt sick. This was not supposed to happen. He designed things to keep Bucky safe. That was the deal. Bucky stayed safe and then he came back. He couldn't, this couldn't…

 

“Are,” he croaked and cleared his throat. “Are they staging a rescue?”

 

As Peggy shook her head he felt like he was falling apart again, like all the scars ripped open and exposed his insides.

 

“I'm so sorry, Tony.” In a few big strides she was at his front and cradled his head to her chest, softly petting his hair.

 

He closed his eyes and exhaled. All for naught, it was all for naught.

 

“Command is planning an assault on that part of the region where they’re probably being held, but it all depends on how the battle at other fronts progresses.”

 

Tony tried to shield his mind against images of Bucky being imprisoned, wounded, starved, beaten, tortured, _dead,_ but failed miserably.

 

“I don’t think I can do this Peggy,” he sobbed. A dam broke and suddenly every emotion, every hurt he had held back the last year burst through. Not once had he cried for himself, not when the pain was so overwhelming he had to throw up. Not when he had tried and tried and tried but failed. But he could cry for Bucky.

 

They sat there for a long while, Peggy softly stroking his back and humming ancient lullabies, while he sobbed and cried until he was wrung dry.

  
  


He pushed himself to extremes. He would work for three days straight until he fell into an exhausted sleep on his workbench, in a bid to bypass the nightmares. Still they came. Bucky in the most horrendous of circumstances, filthy, crowded, rat infested prisons. Bucky bleeding and pleading for help. Bucky with his eyes beaten shut, his face bruised and purple. Bucky starved to half his bulk. Bucky in his suit, hand outstretched and silent mouthing: “why didn’t you come for me?” before he was snatched away by evil hands.

  
  


An assault was planned and cancelled at the last minute because of a bad turn in the weather.

  
  


He was losing weight. Ana had taken it on herself to come and bring him food, staying until he had eaten at least a bit. It tasted ashen, but he didn’t want to let her down, so he chewed mechanically.

 

His health deteriorated with his mood. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest without seeing some version of Bucky being hurt before his mind’s eye. He had stopped dancing, using all his time and energy in designing better weapons, better vehicles for the troops struggling far away from home.

  
  


Sweat was dripping from his nose onto the table, where he was bending a tiny piece of metal to his will. He was so lost in his work that he hadn’t heard that someone had entered his workshop until he noticed the points of their shoes in his peripheral vision.

 

“Peggy!” He looked up and greeted her warmly, kissing her on her cheek.

 

“He’s home.”

 

Those two words made him fall down on the stool behind him, while he stared at her in shock. Peggy smiled back at him, nodding to confirm it.

 

Tony erupted in a flurry of movement, turning off equipment while he wiped at his face and neck with a towel, before running to the door.

 

“What are you waiting for, Pegs, we gotta go!”

 

“Hold on, Anthony, do you want to go like that?” She pointed her chin at his stained vest and shorts. She did have a point, he reeked.

 

“I’ll be right down,” he yelled and he jogged to his bedroom to shower and change in an outfit he knew Bucky had liked before.

 

He stared at himself in the mirror while combing his hair. It had gotten long, too long to properly tame. As he scrutinized his face, with his cheekbones prominent and dark bags under his eyes, insecurity took hold of him. What if Bucky hated him and he was the last person Bucky wanted to see? He could still be angry he was stood up. What if Bucky had met someone else? What if he blamed Tony for his capture because his weapons just weren’t good enough?

 

It didn't matter. He had to go, he had to at least assure himself that it was Bucky. That he was alive, that he was here. He _had_ to. He needed a new image to try and fail to fall asleep to.

  
  


He found Peggy in the kitchen, speaking with Ana. They stopped talking the minute they heard him coming down the hall. It was okay, he knew they both worried about him. He also knew Ana and Jarvis had probably guessed what was going on. He suppressed a sigh, how much easier it would be if they lived in a world where a boy was allowed to love a boy.

 

Ana pushed a paper bag with sandwiches in his hand, and this time he could barely choke back a sob as it was a visceral reminder of that first night.

 

Thanking Ana, Peggy carefully steered him out of the kitchen and down the hall towards her car. It was only when they were speeding out of the borrow towards that he asked where they were going.

 

“He’s still in hospital. He’s… I don’t want you to be alarmed when you see him, Anthony. He’s not in good shape.”

 

Tony snorted at that. Any state he would find Bucky in would be better than the images his own mind wilfully supplied. Peggy briefly gazed at him, before turning her attention to the road again. She understood.

  
  


Clutching the paper bag with a white knuckled grip Tony allowed himself to be led through the maze of hallways that comprised the military hospital. The sheer amount of casualties was mind boggling. And these were only men who were stable enough to travel back here. In other hospitals and still in Europe were hundreds, no, thousands more, who were fighting for their lives under gruesome conditions.

 

When they came to the ward where Bucky lay, Peggy turned around and took hold of Tony by his shoulders, looking him sternly in the eye.

 

“Whatever has happened to him _was not your fault_. Do you get that?”

 

Tony nodded, numb. He didn't really believe it.

 

“Fate has played a cruel trick on you, but you got a second chance now. That's more than a lot of these boys get. _Don't waste it_.”

 

She hugged him to her chest and stepped away. “Go on then, I'll wait.”

 

He hesitated at the ward's entrance. There were twenty men lying here, with a wide variety of wounds. Tony steeled himself and warily made his way between the rows of beds. Some followed his path with indifference, but most were asleep or unconscious. He scanned their faces, involuntarily taking in their condition. A lot had lost a limb, or two. One man was completely covered in bandages. Tony sighed when the name on the tag wasn't Bucky's. Some were blinded, some heavily scarred.

 

His breath caught when he neared the end of the ward. There, in the last bed, the one at the window, was Bucky. He was looking away, staring out of the window, but

at Tony's gasp he turned his head, his eyes widening when he spotted Tony.

 

Tony's knees nearly buckled and he had to take the last steps towards the chair near Bucky's bed or risk falling on the ground. They didn't speak, but didn't lose eye contact either, as Tony gingerly sat down. When he felt his lower lip wobble traitorously he looked down at the bag he still clutched like a lifeline.  

 

He looked up again to Bucky smiling at him, and felt his lips twitch involuntarily, relief flooding him at the sight.

 

Bucky reached out and touched Tony's cheek.

 

“Thank you for always visiting me when I hurt. You're truly a guardian angel.” He smiled even more sweetly before closing his eyes, and Tony had no idea how to react.

 

As he tried to turn in the bed Bucky grimaced. His eyes flew open again and he clutched Tony's arm. “You have to go! They're coming again! Go! Please Tony, don't let them hurt you as well, please,” Bucky sobbed while he tried to push Tony away. “Go.”

 

Tony saw no other option but to stand up and take a step away. Bucky, mollified, seemed to rest easier and had closed his eyes again. Tony put the sandwiches on the chair and walked away, thoroughly shaken.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: description of being in a car crash, nightmares about torture


	5. Chapter 5

They had had to amputate Bucky's arm. What had happened exactly the doctors and nurses Tony spoke to couldn't say, the arm was in that bad a condition when Bucky was rescued, and he’d been delirious ever since. 

 

Tony made sure Bucky was moved to a room by himself, nice and light, with a good view over the gardens surrounding the hospital; and he gave the doctor permission to do whatever was necessary for Bucky's survival. Tony had long ago started to put money away from his trust fund into a private account with a false name. At the time he had laughed at how easily he had fooled and manipulated the bank, now he was immensely grateful he could offer Bucky the comfort and care that he deserved. 

 

Peggy had returned straight to the front after their visit to the hospital, and he sorely missed her quiet presence. It took him two weeks to gather the nerve to visit Bucky again. The doctor said he had made excellent progress with the new antibiotics and the fever was nearly down. 

 

He knocked softly on the door, half hoping Bucky wouldn't hear it. 

 

“Come in.”

 

Taking a deep breath he stepped into the room. Bucky was looking a lot better, not as deadly pale anymore, and some life had returned to his eyes. 

 

He looked up in surprise when he saw who it was, and Tony felt his gut clench with nerves. He took a step into the room and closed the door behind him. 

 

“I eh, you're supposed to bring something. When you visit.” He awkwardly held out a bouquet of flowers.

 

“That's very thoughtful.” 

 

Tony wasn't sure but Bucky seemed to be sneering. He took another tentative step forward and put the flowers on a dresser. 

 

“So.” Now that they were actually face to face, and coherent, Tony didn't know how to act. He couldn't properly form words and his fingers seemed to move by themselves, tapping a nervous rhythm against his chest. 

 

Bucky gestured at the room at large. “Nice setup, I suppose I should thank you.”

 

Tony's first instinct was to deny he had helped, Bucky had always been sensitive to Tony's wealth. “I didn't, I--”

 

“Come on, Stark, I ain’t no genius, but I'm no fool either.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “So, I'm your kept man now?” A smirk on his face. 

Tony felt his eyes widen. Of course that's what it would look like to Bucky. He felt like such a douche. He shouldn't have come here, the last thing Bucky needed was dealing with him, feeling obligated. He could've just talked to the doctor and left. He hunched in on himself and mumbled, eyes locked at the floor. 

 

“Of course not! I'm sorry, I… I only wanted you as comfortable as possible. And you needed the medicine. There's, there's no strings attached. It just seemed like the least I could do. I won't bother you anymore.” He turned to leave. 

 

“Don't you dare run away from me again, I deserve some God damn answers!” Bucky bit out.

 

When Tony dared to look around he saw Bucky was barely keeping his emotions in check, the sheet balled up in his fist. Tony nodded mutely and shuffled to the chair opposite Bucky's bed. 

 

“I…” Tony started, but Bucky talked right over him. 

 

“You know they took it? Those bastards took my mother's medallion when they captured us.” Bucky's voice sounded pained. Tony hunched in more, and played with the hem of his shirt while he listened. He couldn't stand to look at Bucky right now. 

 

“It was supposed to be with you, Tony!” Bucky exclaimed. “It was supposed to be with you, I was gonna give it to you, on that, on that night, but you didn't show. Why didn't you show, Tony? Wasn't I good enough?” Bucky's voice was barely a whisper at the end, but still each word was like a physical blow. “I was so mad at you, you know? I tried to get over it, tried to forget you with a pretty London boy when I was on leave from the frontline.” Bucky snorted, and Tony looked up to see him shaking his head, staring straight ahead. “Couldn't do it. All I saw was you and your stupidly gorgeous face.”

 

They locked eyes, and Tony was nearly overwhelmed by the profound hurt on Bucky's face. He cleared his throat, thinking of how to tell about the accident, but Bucky continued, clearly needing to get this of his chest. 

 

“Couldn't stay mad at you though, you saved my life countless of times. Rifle never let me down.” He huffed. “Was our own fucking stupid mistake that got us caught.” Bucky scrunched his eyes shut and furiously wiped his hand over his face, as if he could wipe out the horrible memories. After a moment he looked Tony in the eye again. “Thinking of you was the only thing that kept me going in that hellhole… Why didn't you show, Tony? Why? I thought we had something, I thought… And now all this?” He wildly waved around. “But even here you never showed, I've been here for weeks. It doesn't make any sense!”

 

Finally he seemed to be done, looking at Tony for answers. Tony's mind was racing, trying to process everything Bucky had said. It didn't make any sense. Tony had been convinced he had read more into their relationship than was really there. They barely knew each other, had never given a name to what they had. They had danced, that was all. He had wished for something more, oh how he had wished. But he had tried to not tempt fate by keeping it to dancing. “ _ Let's dance _ ,” Bucky had said, so that's what he did. Never talk about yourself, don't ask too many questions, just dance. But it seemed he had been wrong and Bucky was so  _ angry _ with him, and he just… The scars were pulling where he had wrapped his arms around his torso. Bucky's frown grew when Tony didn't speak, and he leaned back in the pillows, turning his face away. 

 

“Fine,” Bucky whispered. “Just go.”

 

Tony's chest felt constricted, like he couldn't get enough air in his reduced lungs. “An accident,” he hacked out. “I was in an accident.” 

 

“What?” Bucky frowned at him.

 

“Car hit me at full speed, on that night. Was in a coma for weeks.” Tony quirked his lips in a watery smile. “They had to shoot me up with extra sedatives several times because I kept trying to get to you. Couldn't understand you were long gone.”

 

“Jesus, doll, why didn't you start with that?” 

 

Tony only shrugged, silently hopeful at the endearment. Bucky looked at him before rubbing at his face again and stare at the ceiling.

 

“Can’t believe it. I was so sure you were done with me,” he mumbled. He turned to Tony again. “Are you alright, though?” His eyes roamed over Tony’s face and body. 

 

Tony squirmed a bit in his seat. “I was lucky.” He shrugged again and patted his chest. “I was impaled by part of the windscreen, shouldn't be alive.”

 

Bucky snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I know how that feels.”

 

An awkward silence fell between them, both sunken in their own thoughts. Bucky was staring at the ceiling again and Tony fumbled with the crease of his pants. He didn’t know what to say to break the silence, everything felt inadequate.

 

Bucky was the first to speak. “You know how alone I felt? Out there? Fellow soldiers all had  _ someone _ waiting for them. All this time thinking-- And it was just dumb, rotten luck.” He shook his head again and sighed. “Well, whatever it was we had, it’s sure over now.” He did that laugh again that wasn’t a laugh at all. “No more dancing for me.” 

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me. I’m a cripple now. No way I could hold your interest for long anymore. But it was nice of you to stop by.” Bucky jutted his chin out deviantly, but in his eyes shimmered something else, something like fear. 

 

“Are you sending me away? I don’t understand… What are you,” Tony trailed off, thoroughly confused. 

 

Bucky didn’t answer, only shrugged and refused to meet his eye. 

 

“I don't care about the dancing!” Tony was getting worked up. He hated how Bucky thought so low of himself. “You're alive, that's what matters!”

 

“I don’t care about the dancing,” he repeated softly. “I just wanted you back.”

 

Bucky looked so sad at him. “Don't think I'll ever be really back,” he whispered nearly too soft to hear. “I think I've lost my mind together with my arm.”

 

What did you say to that? Tony was at a loss. “I don't understand…”

 

“I slept in the closet tonight because I was sure I was still captive. It was so real. I could hear the other prisoners scream, Tony! I felt the cold, damp floor…. I nearly threw up because of the smell of my own arm rotting! I'm crazy.”

 

Tony flinched at this outburst, his mind helpfully providing pictures of Bucky's imprisonment. He shook his head furiously. “You're  _ not _ crazy. It's called shell shock. Peggy told me about it when I couldn't get in a car after the accident.” He snorted. “I'm such a wimp. Anyway, a lot of soldiers have it. It's  _ normal _ . It sucks ass but it's normal.”

 

Bucky stared at him, studying him intently. “Come here, Tony.” He patted the bed beside him.

 

Tony hesitated, but then he made his way over and sat down on Bucky's right. He found it hard to look him in the eye so close, nor could he look at the spot where Bucky's left arm should've been, looking at his own lap instead. 

 

With a barely there touch on his chin Bucky guided Tony to turn his head. “Look at me. Please?”

 

He couldn’t deny Bucky anything so he looked up through his lashes and felt something thaw, deep inside. The look Bucky gave him was wary but hopeful, not the barely veiled hostility from before.

 

“Why are you here, Tony?”

 

Tony looked at his hands, as if they held the answer, and he supposed they did. He dared to reach out and put a stray lock of hair behind Bucky's ear, a mimic of that night that seemed so long ago now.

 

“For you. Always you.”

 

Bucky slowly sat up and put their foreheads together. “Tell me what you want. I need to know for certain this time,” he pleaded, his hand warm on Tony’s shoulder. 

Why had they never had this talk? Sitting close together, breathing each other in, touching, it was all so simple. Tony referently touched Bucky's cheek. 

 

“You. I want you, Bucky.” 

 

Bucky nodded, a quick jerk of his head. 

 

They kissed. Softly. Sweetly. Without any of the heat and urgency they had always shared before. It was a kiss that whispered “ _ I'm grateful _ ”, that pleaded “ _ don't ever leave again _ ”, that promised  _ “I'll never let you go _ .”

 

It was a kiss that said “ **_I'm home_ ** .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, a hopeful ending. Happy was a bit too far a stretch.   
> Thank you all for your wonderful comments, they really made my week!

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://bill-longbow.tumblr.com)!


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